


All These Midnights

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Standrew - Freeform, post-pho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-26 14:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: About the time offscreen between Houston, Honolulu, and Las Vegas in the pho episode. Steven does a lot of thinking about his relationship with Andrew. And Andrew does a lot of thinking about his relationship with Steven.





	1. Houston

**Author's Note:**

> My first Worth It fic ever! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> -H

“That guy was so cool,” Steven says, as they pile into the car. Andrew shrugs. “What, you didn’t like him?”

“It’s not that I didn’t like him, I just...prefer to do the episodes without anyone else. I feel like other people throw us off a bit. Maybe I’m wrong.” Strangely, this admission gives Steven a strawberry-soda feeling, as though he is tasting something sweet and bubbly at the same time. He ignores the sensation.

“I think the guest chefs lend us some food-critiquing legitimacy.”

This doesn’t have the intended effect. Instead, Andrew’s expression grows even more serious.

“I suppose. The premise of the show, though, is that we’re _not_ food experts. We’re just two guys who really enjoy shitting gold.”

Up front, Adam laughs, and the sound causes Steven to laugh too, despite the uncomfortable edge in his chest.

They get back to the hotel late. _Very_ late. Adam says his goodnights quickly and darts into his own room, apparently exhausted. Steven stands in the blandly decorated hallway feeling as though he should say something. Andrew swoops in for both of them.

“This was a fun one.” He offers a rare, exasperated, thoroughly Andrew smile, the kind that Steven now finds himself waiting for at the ends of sentences.

“It was.”

More silence. More hesitating. “Well, I guess I’m turning in,” Steven says. The words are like paper in his mouth, dry, and wrong. What he wants to say...what he _wants_ to say...what does he want to say? But Andrew has already gone into his room.

After Steven closes the door, he lies down on his bed immediately, relishing the sensation of being horizontal. Instead of sleeping, he just thinks. Mostly about the cocktail episode. It’s one of his least favorite. Steven doesn’t like his tipsy self. He likes Andrew’s tipsy self, though. All warm to the touch, and soft-spoken, and unfocused. Tipsy Andrew is like an Andrew in slow motion. Like--Steven yawns; he should really get some sleep--an Andrew maple syrup. Steven opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Was that a...pancake metaphor?

Oh _God_.

Dispelling all thoughts of Andrews-in-syrup, Steven staggers off the bed and towards the shower, clumsily pulling off his clothing as he nears the door. The shower offers no relief. Steven pounds his head lightly on the tiles, feeling stupid and inadequate. The thoughts he’s been thinking are _not okay_ , in a friendship sense, and a general sense. He goes over the reasons in his head as he shampoos his hair. Firstly, he has a great thing going with Andrew. It would be horrible to ruin their connection with thoughts of...of whatever. Of not-friendship. Secondly, and this is critical, Steven is not gay. He’s a pretty meek-looking heterosexual, perhaps, but definitely not gay. And neither is Andrew. Even though living in Los Angeles has taught him a lot about sexuality, Steven _knows_ that Andrew isn’t gay. Or…

He slams the shower dial inwards, cutting off the stream of scalding hot water. There are still bubbles in his ears, but Steven needs to snap out of it. _Snap. out. of. it._ Someone pounds on the door. Steven careens out of the bathroom, grabs a t-shirt, and wraps a towel around his waist. Of course, _of course_ , it’s like summoning a demon with this man--he yanks open the door, a little out of breath. There, totally oblivious to the eight existential crises Steven has just been through, stands Andrew, holding Milk Duds and Sour Patch Kids.

“Hey,” he says, chewing thickly, “I bought too much candy from the convenience store downstairs. Do you want to help me eat it?”

He’s fully dressed, and clearly hasn’t been doing much in the way of preparing for bed. Steven judgement screams at him to politely decline, change, and black out until tomorrow morning.

“Sure. Let me just put on some pants.”

Andrew sits on the bed, gnawing through caramel and chocolate. Steven’s hands are shaking as he rifles through his backpack for underwear and pants. He finds them and returns to the steamy bathroom. His hair, now a strange acid blonde, is stuck at all angles, and the tip of his nose is red. Although he knows he shouldn’t be worried about his physical appearance, annoyingly, idiotically, he can’t help it. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, Andrew gives Steven a look like he could drink him. And it’s _so rewarding_. Steven wishes he could bottle that look; that melted, golden, campfire glow look. There’s a heavy moment of expectation, and Steven can see Andrew’s eyes darken, just slightly. Steven hates these hotel nights. He hates these moments. He wishes, he wishes...he wishes for too much, and he knows it. The heaviness falls to the ground and Steven clambers onto the bed, feeling like a child afraid of the dark. And they sit there and eat together. Like always.


	2. To--Honolulu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the flight to Honolulu, things...happen. [Andrew's perspective]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether or not to make this a switch-back-and-forth fic, but I really like the way this chapter turned out. It's been really encouraging to read all of your comments! Thank you for being so nice! Also, I recognize that the comment section is confusing because I changed my pseud name 3 times, but I promise it's "brothboy" for good now. :) 
> 
> -H
> 
> EDIT: It's no longer "brothboy." Now I'm guava-pancake...because you can find me on tumblr under the same username! And it's just easier. Sorry. Okay. Back to writing chapter three...and yes, we're going with Steven's perspective this time...

Andrew wakes up with a Steven draped over his chest. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing Steven asleep. Usually, he’s an absolutely frenetic presence, overflowing with toothache-level earnestness. In all honesty, Andrew can tell that it’s starting to rub off on him. He’s more willing to be silly and stupid on camera, more willing to yell about food trivia in public. Steven shifts, dreaming, his face mushed into Andrew’s side. So oblivious. 

Lately, Andrew has been feeling weird around Steven. Well, not weird. Good. Happy. But also tense, as though there’s a chord stretching between them that could snap at any moment. He’s never felt this way about a coworker before. Then again, he’s never had a coworker like Steven, who cares so much, and worries so little.  _ Better not fuck it up _ , Andrew thinks as Steven continues to slumber, sunlight weaving through his ridiculous blonde hair.  _ You enjoy being friends with Steven. Don’t ruin this.  _ Andrew suddenly feels desperately uncomfortable. Steven is so present, so real, so tangible. If he gets too carried away, Andrew might just do something he regrets. Gulping down impulses that say  _ touch _ , Andrew jostles Steven’s arm.

“Dude. Wake up. We gotta get on a plane to Hawaii.” 

Steven’s eyes flutter open and he flushes when he feels Andrew so close to him. Like a fawn, he startles away, and Andrew finds himself oddly hurt by how eagerly Steven moves to the opposite side of the bed. 

“Jeez. I feel like there are marbles rattling around in my head. And I didn’t even drink.” 

He stands up, shaky, and the coldness Andrew feels is briefly numbed by the image of Steven tottering unsteadily around the hotel room.

“I’m gonna go shower and change. And brush my teeth. Adam’s probably up already, so I’ll see you down there,” Andrew says. 

With a smile that he knows is more than a bit forced, he leaves the comfort of the bed, walks back to his own room, and begins fantasizing as soon as he’s alone.  _ What if….what if... _ he lets himself imagine a variety of intriguing possibilities, each more delicious than the last.  Looking at his disgruntled reflection in the mirror, he attempts to end the sugar rush surge of Steven-related thoughts. He feels like a teenager unable to rein in his hormones.  _ Pull your shit together, asshole _ , Andrew thinks.

Then, inexplicably, his mind goes to the fried chicken episode. Mint dripping into the recesses of his mouth, he recalls what Steven said about... _ not having experience in the lovemaking department.  _ The idea that Steven is a virgin drives Andrew a little crazy. It makes sense, given his occasional childishness, and single-minded focus on work and media,  _ but still _ . A virgin. Despite his earlier commitment, Andrew speculates on what Steven has done. Certainly he’s  _ tried  _ some things, right? Like...No.  _ Fuck no.  _ Andrew spits out some toothpaste, rinses out his mouth, and walks back out into the room. 

It takes him a second to remember why both of the beds are still made. 

Adam is downstairs by the time Andrew and Steven drag themselves and their luggage into the lobby. Steven has a kind of manic, overtired energy, and as they walk to the parking garage, Andrew steals discreet glances at Steven’s long, coffee-tremble fingers. They’re so fine. Good piano-playing fingers. There’s some joke here about ladyfinger cookies but Andrew can’t work it out; he’s so disoriented. Staying in hotels does this to him. It’s fun to be away from home, but these morning flights? Less fun. The radio filters through the silence in the car. Steven falls asleep in the backseat, slumped over a bag of camera equipment.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Adam says, one hand steady on the wheel. Andrew nearly jumps. 

“What’s okay?” he replies, pretty sure he knows what’s okay and fearing that he is right.

“The whole thing with Steven. It’s okay. Steven’s a pretty tough nut to crack, you know. Before this whole show, he was pretty shy. And he has these weird moods...I’m just saying, it’s nice that you’re nice to him.”

Andrew’s brain short-circuits, groping for something to hold onto in the dark, dangerous tide of his extremely unprofessional feelings. He doesn’t know how to process that Adam appears to have a grasp on the situation. He doesn’t know how to process that there  _ is  _ a situation.   

“Well...thanks. There’s nothing going on, though. I feel like it’s almost dumb to clarify what you already know, but I’ll just say it, for the record. There’s nothing going on. So thanks for being concerned, but it’s unwarranted.” 

_ You dirty liar _ . 

“Alright,” Adam responds, shrugging, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, “whatever you say dude.”

After about thirty minutes, they pull into the airport. The gate is far away so they spend some time meandering through the shops, joking about the souvenirs. Steven is, once again, an unstoppable force of movement. It’s refreshing, to see the world through Steven’s eyes. Recently, Andrew has been forgetting to wonder, and Steven has given that back to him. 

And yet, the expression Steven had on his face when he jumped away is still frozen inside of Andrew, like an icicle poking into his throat. The horrifying desire to confront Steven is almost overwhelming, and it takes all of Andrew’s self-control not to slip up. What makes everything worse is Steven’s refusal to acknowledge that anything is wrong. 

As per usual, he’s a fucking rainbow sandwich. 

All three of them are dead to the world by the time the plane leaves the ground.

*** 

It’s warm. Juicily warm, like an orange that’s been left in the sun. Andrew puts a hand to his forehead and looks out over his sunshine-splashed garden. Beside him is a basket of unusually pink tomatoes, each unpocked and perfect, ready to be made into sauce, or soup, or salad. He’s standing in a vegetable plot. There are flowers too, though: roaring tiger lilies, tittering tulips, laughing daisies. All sorts.

A man steps out from behind a wall of sunflowers holding a bushel of snap peas. Andrew can hear them clattering together, like castanets. It’s Steven. He’s wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a flowery apron. He’s saying something. Andrew wants to move closer, but finds himself stuck in the soil, hairy roots suddenly grabbing at his ankles, pulling him down, down, into the cool depths of the earth. Andrew knows instinctively that he  _ must  _ hear what Steven is saying, but he can’t move.  _ No.  _ Fighting desperately to remain above the surface, Andrew cries out, the sound tearing from his chest.  _ It’s like the Devil’s Snare _ , he thinks, an inexplicable  _ Harry Potter  _ reference,  _ the more I struggle the more I sink. _ That’s the last thing he is conscious of before the warm soil engulfs him. 

*** 

“Andrew?” Steven is looking at him quizzically, his eyes tired. “You’re acting all...squirmy. What’s up?” 

He’s too close. Andrew restrains pins his arms to the seatrests and attempts to look nonchalant. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. Just had sort of a strange dream.” 

Adam, whose nose is buried in the oldest James Patterson paperback Andrew has ever seen, raises an eyebrow. The look is enough. Steven leans back and opens up the window, their little row flooding with light. 

“Almost there,” he says.


	3. Honolulu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven thinks about what he wants. And the boys go to Hawaii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but I sort of love the ending? A flustered, infatuated Steven is a Steven I'd kill for. Just in time for the new episode tomorrow!
> 
> -H

It’s beautiful in Hawaii. 

They’re sitting on the beach, wrapping up some b-roll footage, and Andrew is quiet. Steven feels as though he’s hurt Andrew. It makes him deeply uncomfortable. Steven hates hurting people. And that’s why, on principle alone, he’s overly nice. Overly accommodating. That’s why, behind his back, people call him a doormat and a pushover.

So to think that he’s inadvertently done something to upset Andrew is eating away at him.

“I wish I could live here,” Andrew says, as they walk down a residential street. It’s late afternoon, and splotches of purple hibiscus color the sidewalk. Adam agrees. A cloud passes overhead and for a moment, a chill comes over all three of them. Steven shivers.

Despite the chill that has seeped into their friendship, Steven cannot help noticing how good Andrew looks. He’s traditionally handsome, much unlike Steven himself. They must be such a mismatched pair. This strong, sturdy, stoic guy next to his own awkward gangliness. He swallows his self-deprecating thoughts. Lately, he’s been struggling with a lot of these. It’s ordinary, in a business with input constantly slamming him from all sides--the company, the fans, the haters--but that doesn’t make it feel less shitty.

They decide to walk through the little town next to the beach. And it’s nice, to see all the storefronts, and cheap touristy displays. Steven can sense a thaw between him and Andrew as well, and when the sun is finally setting, pink and shimmering over the ocean, he’s completely at peace. He knows that it’s probably not healthy to swing so wildly between  _ not okay  _ and  _ fine  _ but that’s just...how it is, right now. 

During the sunset watching, while Adam is setting up the camera, Steven watches Andrew surreptitiously. The watercolor swirl of tangelo orange and grapefruit pink gets into his hair and stays there, and in the light, Steven can see that his forearms are already slightly tan. Most white people fry to a crisp in the sun, but not Andrew. Instead, he just looks more...golden. In a way that makes Steven’s mouth go desert dry. Steven wonders if he will always feel this way. Right on the edge of a great something. 

Andrew makes his way over to Steven and sits down next to him. The apprehension in his face finally forces Steven to speak. “Did I...do something? To upset you? It’s been kind of weird the whole day, and I just wanted to know if I made you angry, because if I did, that definitely wasn’t my intention, so,” he trails off. Andrew is silent for a while. 

Then, impossibly gently, he says, “Yesterday morning, you sort of freaked out when we woke up together. And Steven, we didn’t  _ do anything _ .” 

Steven kicks himself.  _ He noticed _ . 

Steven thinks back to waking up in the same room as Andrew. The smell of his shirt, the feeling of his skin. And how badly he wanted to not move. Ever. In his foggy mental state, Steven hadn’t been able to stop himself from realizing the truth. And the truth had scared him. 

“Lim?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s not you.  I just saw, for a second, the--”  _ possibilities?  _ No, too romantic. There is no way that right now, on a public beach, Steven will confess

“--the implications. I guess I just got concerned. Like, what if someone noticed, or what if Adam tells someone...I don’t know.” 

_ You’re making it infinitely worse _ . 

“But I swear it had nothing to do with you, Andrew.” 

_ Stop. Talking. Now. _

“Please, I--”

“No, it’s okay,” Andrew replies, tired. The last sliver of sun goes down and the night swallows both of them. 

*** 

Faint music trickles into Steven’s hotel room through the open window. The melody is calming, and it gives him space to think, without the pressure of a camera, or other people. He...wants. Want.  _ Want.  _ W a n t. It’s a word that melts him, jitters him. Makes his palms sweat. Admitting it, tasting it. Want. Like ginger ale, the peppered sweetness of the monosyllable gets under his skin. He pretends that Andrew is opening the door, that the weight of the body is making the lower right corner of the bed sink in. And his hair. Steven rubs his hand back and forth over the bed, imagining the textured softness of it beneath his fingertips.  _ Want _ . 

Steven knows what, and who, he wants.

But how to say it? And what if Andrew rejects him? What will happen to Worth It? Doubts eat away at him for the rest of the night as he flips back and forth between  _ say  _ and  _ don’t _ , between  _ finally  _ and  _ never _ . 


	4. Las Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the finale, Andrew and Steven work it out.

The kiss is nothing like Andrew imagined. They’re all over the place: messy, and uncoordinated, and rough. Surprisingly rough. Steven kisses like a puppy, playful and slightly unsure, leaning in deeply and then pulling away. It’s frustrating and endearing at the same time, and for now, Andrew humors him, catching his breath when necessary, slowing down, asking again and again, “You okay?” Because that’s important with someone like Steven, who is so kind, and expects the whole world to be kind back to him. 

They lie around for a while afterwards, listening to the hotel air conditioning. Andrews arms are around Steven and everything feels...safe. Secure. For once, Steven is absolutely still, leaning into Andrew’s hand as it combs soundlessly through his wispy silver hair. There are so many questions in Andrew’s head like  _ now what  _ and  _ who should know  _ and  _ will this last  _ but they disintegrate when Steven takes Andrew’s hand and actually  _ bites down  _ on his forefinger, blushing, knowing he’s being ridiculous, but totally unable to help himself. 

Another tiny nip. 

Andrew starts laughing a real, full, belly laugh, the kind that he only really experiences around Steven.

“What are you doing?” he says.

“Nothin’” 

“Steven, I’m not a piece of beef jerky.”

“You are a jerk.” 

“I don’t know if I’ll recover from that.”

Steven let’s Andrew’s hand fall out of his mouth, and they interlace their fingers together.

“Andrew?"

“Huh?” 

“I’m not like...looking to  _ do  _ anything. Yet. I’m not sure exactly--” 

“That’s fine.” 

They move closer on the narrow sofa.  _ Jesus, couldn’t afford a wider cushion?  _ Andrew thinks as he narrowly avoids hitting his head on the coffee table. He touches the back of Steven’s neck. The action somehow feels proprietary, as though he is claiming that stretch of skin for himself. And he is. Kind of. Andrew pets the area again, fascinated by how easy it is to have what he wants. What he’s wanted. God, eons. He wants to lie on this small, stupid couch for  _ eons _ with Steven, running his fingers over this neck, giving kisses and receiving kisses, having, and having.

Lost in his own happiness and relief and a snarling, vaguely guilty sense of arousal, Andrew almost misses what Steven says next. 

“Have you ever done this?”

“Kissed someone? Uh, yeah. Never been bitten though, that’s a first--” 

“Hey! No. I mean, like, with a guy.” 

“Yeah. Sure. More with women, but I’ve been with a few other guys.” 

“So you know.” 

“Know...what?” 

“I mean like, you’re experienced.” 

“Probably just as experienced as you.” 

“No. I...never.” 

“Yeah, I know you’re a virgin, Steven, you’ve said it before.”

“No, I’ve never even... _ kissed _ a man. Or had feelings for a man. Or anything. I’ve kind of just stayed in the heterosexual lane my whole life. So you have to understand that this is a bit hard for me. Tell me, like, I don’t know. If I’m doing anything wrong? Does that make sense?” 

“It’s not possible to do anything wrong. You shouldn’t worry. There’s no correct way to be gay, or bi, or whatever, Steven.” 

“Okay.” 

Andrew props his head up on one arm so he can look at Steven. “You know I’m not fucking with you, right?” Steven nods. 

They come together again, and this time, it’s perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy with the way this fic turned out! I wanted to explore their individual concerns and doubts, but ultimately lead them to a happy ending. I didn't really have enough patience to work out how Steven/Andrew tells the other about their feelings, but I guess, in the end, it doesn't really...matter? I don't know. Please let me know what you think! And if you have any ideas for other Worth It fics, I'm definitely open to suggestions.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has been leaving sweet comments!
> 
> \- H


End file.
